Awnuos Rendemen
Character Name: This small Elf's name happens to be Awnuos M. Rendemen. His middle name is very unknown, only upon the deed of his house, which now lies in the Stormwind Guard's hand. The 'M' stands for Mattonidas. He was named after one of the Priests that looked over him during his childhood. This particular Priest was a Human, obviously so from the name. Character Age: He is currently 153 years old. Oddly enough, he doesn't look a day past 120. Perhaps as he transcended to another level of purity, his body did such as well. Character History: His birth into Azeroth was quick. It was swift. His mother passed into labor by herself. She was on the run from a putrid cult of demonic worshipers. She was out of answers when, oddly, a group of strange monks came to her. They quickly helped the birthing process. The child was a beautiful young Elf boy. All about in the wilderness of Hillsbrad warlocks began to come out of hiding, having followed her. She looked upon them with fear. The monks said they would send the child to safety, though they wouldn't be able to get her out in time. One monk took the young boy quickly away. His speed brought the boy to a church while the monks (now five in all) were there to fight off the hordes of foes. They began to show a deep quiet. Twenty warlocks and demons surrounded them. Their eyes opened wide as they saw what they hoped they hadn't. It was rumored for a small amount of time that five priests of unparalleled power traveled the lands. The cult, which had been growing secretly in numbers, had faced them before. They knew what the priests were. They were High Divinists. They were the Hand of Light. The five fingers were its members individually. They were: Graigh Highroan; Human male, Sinfuru Graggiron; Dwarven male, Glory Eury; High Elf female, Sin'ji Ptunnix; Troll male, and Phenrak Sinik; High Elf male. The battle was quick, decisive, and holy. However, even with such great beings, one is still able to fall. This person was Awnuos' mother, Hope Euphoi. She fell by the lightning quick spell of the cult's leader. A painful mistake by the five, though unstoppable nonetheless. They quickly dealt with the nineteen warlocks and demons, though the Grand Warlock Gramph Gorerock (Rhymes ftw?) managed to escape. The Divinists shook their heads and headed home. The young monk who fled was tending to the child in the small cottage when the five returned. They nodded and held conference. It was to be decided that he was to be the next one they would train fully. They would give him a life in which death wouldn't be the thing he worried of. They would give him much, and for what reason? Through his childhood years he was a quiet little Elf. He was goofy, and tended to be avoided by the other children in the cottage tucked away in the mountains. He took to his studies immensely. His nose was always in a book. However, there was also one other place where he was: the kitchens. He grew to be a great cook during his young life. He was taught by Sinfuru Graggiron. It was time that he began making pilgrimages. At the young age of twenty he began to make travels on his own. He was to live off those he helped. He was to use the world, the interconnected beings of all, to survive. He had struggles. He didn't have fights though. He used kind words to all and offered all that would him something in return, if not at that moment then at a later time. His time spent on the roads toughened him. He never met a being he didn't like, expect Demons which he briskly avoided. As he grew through his studies over the years, his teachers died one by one. They each taught him great and different things before death. He began to harness the light and all its capabilities. He started healing first, but grew to begin examining the paranormal forces of the world. There were only three left alive by the time he reached the age of 100. Glory, Phinrak, and Sinfuru were his new teachers. They knew they had to show him deeper meanings of the world, and also of the light. He soon undertook tests. They analyzed his faith and even his being. It was not let known by anyone of what he did. His teachers knew that and planned so since they left the cottage when he turned the age of 100. One "test" was the fact that he had to face a Shivarra, and walk away with her giving him his word to return to the Nether. It was no simple task. The three grew impressed with his growing faith and transcendence into the light. His powers were reaching high points within the next twenty years. Though, they knew they had to tell him of his mother that they so curtly avoided before. Upon hearing, he quietly mentioned that he needed some time alone. He began to question them, and what they taught him. He wondered if all that he saved, all that he fought to learn, was for nothing. If they were to keep this from him, what else had the kept from him? He began his own crusade. His own set pilgrimage to the place his mentors had mentioned. Upon arriving, he sat in the very place he was birthed, unknowingly. He stayed in that same spot for four days, pondering the world and all it was. He knew what he needed to do and he had the prowess and ability to do so. He wouldn't seek the cult out. He wouldn't find their new members. Instead, he would return and tell him of his self-realization. On his travel back their new place of hiding, he was held up by an old beggar. The man, unfortunately, was part of the vile cult. The cult had been spying on Awnuos and the other Divinists for some time. Awnuos was of great power now, a priest they hoped they wouldn't have to deal with. The man knocked Awnuos out when he wasn't looking and tied him up. Back at the hiding camp, the mentors waited uneasily. Little did they know, dark forces were gaining over the years. Shadows were forming secretly. Life was being oppressed without it even knowing. The cult's darkest members surrounded the loving teachers quietly. Quickly in a concentrated beam of fel-fire, they were destroyed utterly. They all looked up before death and quickly grabbed hands. They smiled and nodded, they had already finished their training of Awnuos. The rest was up to him. Awnuos awoke, binded. The old man had left to gain firewood. Awnuos, slowly but surely, slipped the bindings and took off to his beloved teachers' encampment. He would soon only find scorched earth and dead bodies. He cried silently, knowing the rest of the hand had died. Though with silent joy he knew he would start anew. He knew all that he needed to know, plus much much more. He would search out new beings, new friends, and new allies. Swiftly he left the camp and began to wander about the land. He called up on the light to guide him, to be with him, and to touch his person. He had alerted something not far away; a Naru. Though it wouldn't seek the Elf that it had felt a strong affinity of life in, it knew that Awnuos would find it. Bumbling and stumbling, he found the Exodar. (Now modern time.) Over the years of his unfruitful wanderings, he grew to be a being purely of the light. He relied on it. He called it. It was his friend, his ally, and most of all; it was him. He walked into the building, eyeing the Draenei here and there. He made his way to O'ros. He was drawn to the Naru. He had heard of them and studied them. Slowly he made his way to the Naru. He dropped to his knees and explained who he was and what he had been through. The evil cult followed him, though he refused to fight back. He refused to strike until he had gained true insight on the situation that was kept hidden and, extremely, oddly enough quiet from him. O'ros looked upon the Elf for more than thirty minutes without a word before agreeing to bless him. Ecstatic, but tired and worn, the Elven High Divinist looked upon O'ros. His body was illuminated in light and his form healed. The Naru agreed and began to hold a conversation with Awnuos. The Elf would be changed from that day forth, in both mind and body. He would find the cult that had oddly not attacked anyone, and purge it. It was his fear that they weren't truly aweful, merely confused. Therefore he didn't attack. They would find themselves of the light once more soon, very soon. Soon after his meeting with O'ros, this scrawny Elf made his way to Goldshire. Here is where he got back onto his feet, and gained a life for himself once more. He quickly knew he had to find shelter from the weeping skies. Thunder could be heard cracking in the nearer-than-one-hoped distance. His rain soaked being made way into the inn, body leaking rain from every inch of his body. They streamed down in droplets, falling upon the floor with resounding spatters. On quick feet, he made his way to the innkeeper. With a smile, he inquired in a room, only to find that he had not enough silver on his person. Quick thoughts brought him to sense, offering his service in cooking and his love in the light to aid the inn. In return, he received feeding and a warm bed. He was allowed to go sleep, body trudging up the stairs. His thin legs pushed his way into a room, stripping soaked clothes from his body with no regard to the beings about. A swift slam of the door and a click of a lock would be the defining features of a two day rest. He slept for precisely forty-five hours and thirty-three minutes. After this time of resting, his eyes creaked open like rusty hinges. His body was renewed and his deep eyes found the sight of breakfast upon the table. Quickly, he fasted and pulled on rags of clothing. He bounded down the stairs of the inn with a smile, ready for days of hard labor. Those days are ones where he found this. He spent long hours slaving over a stove. He also found himself pouring over wounds, blessing and healing people with the light. Soon, he struck gold, well, nearly. He served a particularly tasty serving of roast beef to a fine clothes salesman. As if by deep appreciation and thanks, he gave to the priest three free sets of noble regalia. "The young Elf certainly looked like beautiful nobility, so why not accentuate it?" thought the noble as he watched the proud Priest to move away. This touched the Priest deeply. Honored and humbled, he moved back to the inn to finish his day's work. As he finished wiping down the last table of the not-so-lively inn, he found a brightly humming book lying under a table. This was the table that the odd balded being sat at all day, eyes glued to the window as if hiding from some beings. He had left without paying, but Awnuos covered the tab with a tad of the silver he had been saving up. A quick flick of the pages, would bring one to chapter one: The Daeva of Holy. With wide eyes, he sat down. Throwing aside dirty and filthy rag, he eyed the book's contents. By morning, the Priest had read through its information and digested all it had to offer. A quick movement up the stairs of the inn would provide him the first plan of his action. Tightly cloth bounded feet carry him to his bag, uttering no sound upon the environment of the deserted inn. With swift flight, he moved away from the inn with not a word of goodbye, neither vocal, nor literal. A journey of an hour took him to the Cathedral of Stormwind, basking in the morning light pouring through the painted windows. He dropped his bag near the door of the Cathedral, golden hued eyes tracing the alter. It glowed with the light's identity. He knew this was the place of necessity. Dropping to a knee, he recited a hymn. His eyes closed shut, light beginning to swirl about his slim body. One leg brought him to a standing position, both tightly cloth wrapped feet raising gingerly onto their toes. He bowed his head, light beginning to push him up into the air in a levitating position. Priests began to line the walls, eyeing the sanctity of the event with much respect and supreme awe. Light now swirling in several patterns about his body, sliding this way and that, he was held up in the air and pulled to a vulnerable position. His stomach was faced forwards, streaming paths of light forming a circle about the bellybutton. A circle with a diameter of five inches was allowed to be free. A column of light that was forming behind the alter moved slowly to its side, compacting tightly. The air about was entrenched with a hum that sounded of angels singing and life being born. The sphere of light now five inches across in diameter slammed forth through the air; it was time of judgement. Awnuos shut his eyes, gaining little control of the twisting beams of light entering into his thin belly. The light swirled in his chest, striking forth into all parts of his body. A surprised look slammed forth onto Awnuos' face, light pouring from eyes, nostrils, and mouth about eight inches from his body. His body went limp for a brief moment, before blasting into an outstretched position in the air. The beams of light coming from his face began to form holes in his body, as if burning through the skin. Soon, he was complete light energy, a beacon of hope and justice. The light poured out of the Cathedral through small holes in the brick walls and into the air. Exactly eight days after the incident, four traders laughed about a stupid Elf walking down a pitch black trail in the middle of the night. They said he was heading to a certain place. He had the demeanor that he had been there before, no map was on his person. Just a simple leather bag thrown across his shoulder, and a set of noble clothes, were to be set upon his person. They shrugged it off, heading back to their ale with greedy hands. He couldn't have been going anywhere important, right? Character Personality: He is a being of purity. His smile reaches the young victims of harm almost as quick as his swift healing. His heart strives for beauty in the world about. He takes kindly to all beings about, a person of love. He holds no hate for any one being, that would not do this world good. He most definitely follows the philosophy of the light. However, his views on it are more deeper than most. He has delved its ways, its hardships, and its love. He holds no love for any Demons however. The dark beings of the world are about the only enemies he has. They would do well to avoid his person as well. They would find their bodies purged in the quickest and swiftest of ways. For the beings of the earth that hold no monetary means, he holds love. A cleaning of his pockets for a couple of copper would be seen if he came across a homeless man. For the beings of rich standing, he holds hands open for charity for the weak. He has been known to stride into the Keep of Stormwind asking for gold for a man to get a night in the inn. It doesn't always work, but the impact is such a sweet prize in itself. Category:Daeva